Hope
by darkwolf76
Summary: Bethany Ryswell has no desire to leave her home and to become a Bolton bride. Yet duty calls and matches have been made, so all she can do is hope.


"You are to marry Roose Bolton," Lord Rodrick Ryswell informed his daughter casually, lounging back in the chair at his writing desk in his study.

Bethany stared at her father in shock. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came. The young woman brushed her dark brown hair back behind her ears and swallowed loudly.

"Does he not have a wife?"

Lord Rodrick looked up from the letters he had started thumbing through waiting for Bethany's delayed response. "She died. You should consider this a great opportunity Bethany. You will be Lady of the Dreadfort and the wife of the second most powerful lord in the North."

"I don't want to leave the Rills though, father." Bethany stared at her father imploringly, just willing him to change his mind. She didn't want to leave to leave her family's lands, with its wide open rolling hills and abundance of horses.

Bethany loved horses, and House Ryswell of the Rills was known for producing the best horses in the North. The young woman tried to spend all the time she could spare in her family's stables among the creatures. She loved riding her mare Ebony through the the rolling hills of the Rills. When she hopped on the horse's back and broke into a gallop, she felt like she was flying. Her soul felt free as the wind whipped her hair about and the blur of hills rushed past. She did not want to leave all of that behind.

Lord Rodrick huffed indignantly. "Really Bethany," he said pinching the bridge of his nose, "Do not be so juvenile. You knew this day would come. You cannot stay here forever acting as a child. You are fifteen now. It is well time for you to marry and grow up."

"But must I go to the Dreadfort?" Bethany inquired quietly, her hands starting to clench into fists at her sides. Besides leaving the Rills, Bethany did not eagerly leap at the match because it was with House Bolton. Every child in the North was told the stories of the Red Bolton Kings of old. They had battled the Starks for control of the North for centuries. Their claim to fame came from the special way they tortured their enemies. Cruel and ruthless, the Boltons had flayed their enemies alive and then proudly displayed the skins in their halls as trophies, morbid momentous of their power. Though the Starks had outlawed the the practice of flaying centuries ago, rumors ran rampant about how the Boltons still flayed their enemies in the dead of night in dungeons deep beneath the Dreadfort and kept all the skins in a secret room. Even if those rumors weren't true, that cruel legacy lived of in the sigil and words of the house: a flayed man and the saying "Our blades are sharp."

Lord Rodrick noticed his daughter's raising ire and rose from his desk. He walked over to where Bethany stood rigid into the middle of his study. He faced her and placed his hands firmly on her shoulders. "My dear girl, I would never arrange a match that would make you utterly miserable. Lord Bolton is still young, not even ten name days older than you. He has much wealth to keep you comfortable and a vast house hold that will be yours to command."

"I don't want to marry into House Bolton father," Bethany told her father frankly. Tears gathered into her brown eyes as she stood shaking.

Lord Rodrick frowned sadly at the girl and shook his head. "I am sorry Bethany, but the match has been made. Your betrothal will be announced at the feast tonight, and we will be traveling to the Dreadfort for your wedding at the end of the month."

* * *

Bethany sat on her bed staring blankly at the walls of her chambers. "Come now child," her Septa Elena urged her, "This all a natural part of growing up. Lord Bolton is young and you will be well provided for. Also, just because the tales about his ancestors are grim doesn't mean he is."

Bethany glanced at her Septa who busily bustled about trying to arrange her charge's possessions to be packed for her journey. Bethany loved Elena. The woman had been like a mother to her since her own mother had passed away a number of years before. Elena had a quick wit and sense about her. She always could give a word of sound advice for every situation. Unlike many septas who minded noble children, Elena was fairly young, having not quite reached her fortieth name day. She was down to earth and practical instead of stuffy and stiff. However, as much as Bethany loved her septa, due to her vows of chastity, this was one situation she would never understand or be able to give advice on.

"Child, stop with your brooding and help me pack your things. A mind that is occupied with practical matters has no time to worry," Septa Elena chided Bethany, a dangerous glint in her eye. Even at fifteen, a woman grown, Bethany dare not cross her septa when she got that determined look in her eye.

The young woman tried her best to put a smile on her face and rose to help Septa Elena prepare for her journey. There was no sense in worrying about the inevitable. She was going to marry Roose Bolton and become Lady Bethany Bolton no matter what she wanted.

* * *

Bethany had refused to spend the journey to Dreadfort cooped up in a wheelhouse. If she had to leave her home to become Lord Bolton's bride, she would do it on horseback. Not to be out done, her younger sister Barbary rode along side on her own steed. The two sisters, on mares of red and black, trotted along ahead of the Ryswell party at a good pace. Barbary, a fierce little thing as fiery and vivacious as the red coat of her horse, talked non-stop about the upcoming festivities and her sister's future. Bethany, as calm, serious, and solemn as her black mare, silently moved towards her future with her head held high, trying to keep her tears at bay. No one but Elena would be coming with her to the Dreadfort. Besides her loyal Septa who had told her father she would not leave her charge, even if it meant serving as a maid, she would be completely alone. Barbary's incessant babble reminding her of the future she did not want was not helping.

"I really don't understand how you can be so depressed! I would give anything for father to arrange such a match for me. You're going to have so much wealth and power, and a young husband too. Your household will be huge. I would be grateful to father for giving me such a match. You didn't even have to work for this. If I ever want to have a decent husband, I'm going to have to-"

"Will you please be quiet!?" Bethany snapped harshly, cutting her sister off mid-sentence. She wheeled her horse around to face her sister. "Do you think I wanted anything of this, Barbary, to leave my home to go live in a strange keep and spend the rest of my life with a man I don't know!? You'll be lucky if you find your own husband. Find one before father makes a match for you." She glared at her sister angrily. Barbary just stared back at her in incredulous shock. Bethany shook her head and pulled on her horse's reigns, directing the mare to canter towards the back of the Ryswell party.

* * *

The Dreadfort loomed tall and menacing out of the surrounding forest. Bethany shivered as it's dark shadow passed over her party as they approached. She locked her gaze onto the open gate ahead as the Ryswell retinue entered the village located outside the castle walls. She couldn't bare to look upon the Bolton subjects who had gathered at the sides of the road to catch a glimpse of the girl who would be their new lady.

She dropped back to ride beside her father as they made their way through the black stone gates of the keep. She schooled her expression into one of solemn dignity and held her head high. She would not let her future husband see a timid cowardly girl the first time laid eyes on her.

Everything around the courtyard seemed dim. The members of the Bolton household stood in their places, their heads bowed in respect. At the center of the line receiving line stood the head of the house hold himself, Roose Bolton. Neither tall nor short, skinning nor muscular, Roose appeared average in everyway, not all the fearsome or imposing lord Bethany had imagined. He had short drab brown hair and a pale face schooled in a neutral expression. The only feature that really stood out were his eyes. Pale grey eyes met Bethany's brown ones in a sharp, studying gaze. She tried to reflect his calm expression but shivered under his scrutiny. Those eyes seemed to pierce her very soul.

Lord Rodrick trotted up to where Lord Bolton stood and pulled his horse to a halt. The rest of the party followed in suit. He dismounted his steed and turned to help Bethany down from hers, but the young woman, still angry at her father and trying to exert her independence, vaulted down from her mare herself. Lord Ryswell waited as the rest of the party dismounted and his younger daughter and sons joined them. Barbary, Roger, and young Rickard came forward to stand behind their father and sister while waiting to be received by the Lord of the Dreadfort. Lord Rodrick came up to the younger Lord Bolton and exteneded a hand of friendship. "My Lord Bolton, thank you for receiving me and my kin on this day and welcoming us into your keep. I hope this visit will mark the start of a close and long standing alliance between our two houses."

Lord Bolton reached and took the visiting lord's offered hand in a firm shake. "It is my honor to host you and your kin in my house Lord Ryswell. We are to be kin soon enough after all," he responded in a quiet but firm tone. His pale eyes glanced past Lord Rysewell and appraised the girl standing directly behind.

Lord Rodrick stepped back and gestured for Bethany to approach. She stepped forward to face her future husband and dropped into as low and graceful a curtsey as she could manage. Roose Bolton appraised her with his haunting pale eyes. Bethany determined she would not appear weak in front of her future household and lord. So, despite her nerves, she rose without shaking and met Roose's gaze head on. She raised her chin and stepped forward once more so Lord Bolton could reach the hand she offered him. "My lord, is is truly a pleasure to meet you. I hope to be a good wife to you."

A glint of approval flashed in the Bolton lord's grey eyes and a ghost of a smile flickered across his face before he once again donned his neutral mask. He picked up her hand and brushed his lips briefly across the back of it. His lips felt dry and cold Bethany noted. "My lady, the pleasure is mine. I welcome you to my home and hope you find it comfortable here."

The rest of the formal greetings and introductions between to the two families were dolled out and then Lord Bolton directed the parties into the keep. In his quiet, cold, and formal tone he he asked Bethany to accompany him in and offered her a stiff arm. As duty dictated, she accepted it and walked alongside her betrothed into the keep.

Her father had been true in his assurances that Roose Bolton was neither ugly, old, nor crude. He did look young, and while not handsome, he had perfectly average looks. He seemed calm and polite as well. Yet, he was dry, cold, and formal. All the servants and small folk seemed to scuffle about with their shoulders hunched and heads held down, as if they were afraid. Bethany noticed as they proceeded though the the halls of the Dreadfort that while no human skins adorned the walls, they were smoky, dark, and grey. Bethany prayed that this man and his halls were not truly as they initially appeared. She placed her hope in that brief flash of approval on her future husband's face and the closed doors and turns in the corridors leading to unseen parts the keep. She clung to the hope that deeper within the hidden depths of her cold husband and his grim keep, she would find something brighter, gentler. She clung to the hope that if she looked deeper, she would find a gentler side to this strange man and place and that with them she could maybe have a happy life. She prayed to the Old Gods with all her strength that she could be happy here, and that this place would become her home and not a prison.

* * *

**Hi! I hope you enjoyed this brief tale featuring Bethany Ryswell, the Lady of the Dreadfort and Roose Bolton's second wife. I've always found Roose to be a very intriguing character in the books and the tv show. Bethany Ryswell is simply listed as a name in cannon but I thought it would be interested to try to discover the person behind that name. How would it feel to be married to Roose Bolton?**

**This is just intended to be a one shot. It is also a prequel to a larger story I'm currently working on called **_**Defying Demons.**_** It's going to feature a Bolton OC, Bethany's daughter. The ultimate conclusion of Bethany's story will also be there too though. So if you would like know if Bethany found a happy ending, keep a eye out!****;)**

**This is admittedly my first foray as an author into GoT/ASoIaF fanfiction, and any feedback or constructive criticism would be appreciated. If anyone does want to read more about Bethany directly, just leave a review telling me and I'd be more than happy to write up a bonus chapter or additional one shot.**

**Thanks for reading and keep an eye out for this story's sequel! Leave a review if you feel so inclined and keep being awesome!;)**


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